As Marissa Brown mounted one of the five amplifiers and brandished a guitar, the sounds—a repeated chord in a steady 4/4 rhythm—would soon be bone-crushing, yet cool. This band of one shortly grew to a quintet—as Galmel, Eli Cohen, Kensaku Shinohara and Medina joined Brown. And with the constant clang-clanging reverberations coursing through the theater—recalling the late guitarist/composer Glenn Branca—the dancers/cum/musicians still remained somewhat emotionless. 

However, irrespective of the slashing/thrashing soundtrack, the resemblance to a Norman Rockwell painting did not seem that far-fetched, if, that is, it was being viewed while under the influence of, well, acid.  

Whether lying in human piles on the floor, being held aloft on a pair of shoulders, or caressing a horizontal body (Barbeau and Salia Sanou), these performers, including Pierrick Jacquart, were inhabiting an alien world, yes, but one that was strangely compelling. The costumes, credited to Andrealisse Lopez and Chamblas, whose work has also been performed in venues including London’s Tate Modern, Paris’ Centre Pompidou and Los Angeles’ Museum of Contemporary Art, were a hodgepodge of shorts, work-out pants, assorted tops and tees, but nevertheless managed to give prominence to the performers’ sometimes slinky, slithery moves. 

And yes, there were even scenes that could be termed beguiling, notably when groupings resembled an amoeba, or perhaps a paramecium, but blobby, for sure. Individuals, including François Malbranque, his green-gooed face a study in concentration, was somehow able to execute aggressive extensions. When the pathetic looking balloon, half-airless, collapsed to the floor like a worthless tent, a heroic Sanou was the last man standing, his mission, whatever it had been, ended.

Was there also a surfeit of loneliness, threaded throughout this terpsichorean tapestry? Indeed, but, as described in the press notes, the “collective isolation, telepathy and intuition maintain communication. Between the lines, under your skin, the driving force of the future and of the living continues to circulate and resist.”

In short, this opus—decidedly not for the faint of heart, but with its superbly steadfast performers and intensely disturbing soundtrack—demands to be seen.